


An Autopsy Built For Two

by JCF



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Sherlolly - Freeform, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCF/pseuds/JCF
Summary: When Molly is unable to attend Sherlock’s Christmas party, Sherlock brings the party to her.





	An Autopsy Built For Two

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!

Molly took a breath and hit “send.”

There weren’t many things capable of taking Molly away from Sherlock’s annual Christmas party.

The sudden death of a friend and colleague was one of them.

Dr. Anita Neuman had always brought joy to the mortuary. Her office was always decorated for the various holidays and the door was always open. Molly had spent a good many nights with Anita, laughing at their ridiculous exchanges of morbid humour, venting about Sherlock’s antics, talking about the latest mess Toby had managed to get himself into.

Most recently, Anita had been Molly’s primary support after Sherlock’s confusing phone call. It had left her with far more questions than she was comfortable with, and Anita had taken the brunt of her frustrations.

“If he truly means what he said, he’ll see it through,” Anita had said. “And if he doesn’t, he’s an idiot.”

Not long after, Sherlock had indeed seen those words through with an afternoon at the Globe and dinner near the Thames. And Anita had shared in Molly’s relief and happiness.

Now, Anita lay on the cold metal slab, waiting for Molly to begin the autopsy - an autopsy Molly felt strange doing. Most of her autopsies were done on strangers – murder victims, car crash victims, workplace deaths, seniors. Except that one colleague who’d been subject to Sherlock’s riding crop several years back.

She picked up the scalpel and prepared to get to work.

Her phone pinged.

Molly set the scalpel down, grateful for the distraction. She pulled her thumbs out of her gloves and retrieved her phone from her pocket.

 

 ** _SHERLOCK_** **_Now_**

_ I’m sorry for your loss. Do you need anything? _

 

For Anita not to be on my slab, Molly thought.

 

_ Not right now,  _ Molly typed.  _ Would just rather be there with you than performing an autopsy on my friend. _

 

She waited a moment for a reply, and when she didn’t get it, she slipped her phone back in her pocket, put her thumbs back in her gloves, and picked up the scalpel again.

She closed her eyes and swallowed her grief. Anita needed her to be the professional mortician she was, and to give Anita’s family a cause of death.

Anita had been delivering an autopsy report for a drowning victim when she’d collapsed in the hall and died minutes later.

Molly had offered to perform the autopsy, offered to be the one who gave Anita’s friends and family closure. Some saw it as stoic, but it came from a more selfish place. She needed closure, too, and had the means to give it to herself. She could have just left and attended Sherlock’s party, but she wouldn’t have made very good company not knowing what killed her friend.

So, with a breath, Molly pierced Anita’s skin and drew the scalpel through her flesh, making the standard Y incision. Then, she retrieved the chest spreader. She grimaced as she felt the sinews of flesh and muscle tear and let go as she spread open the incision.

She found Anita’s cause of death almost immediately. Blood was pooled in her lower thoracic cavity just below where the sternum stopped, and her aorta was ruptured. An aneurysm.

Molly cursed. Of all the possible ways for Anita to go, an aneurysm in her late thirties was it?

Molly found it a difficult diagnosis to accept. She’d wanted closure, she’d wanted to give Anita’s family answers, but now, she didn’t want to accept it.

Molly’s vision blurred, and she stepped away from the table. So much for being the professional mortician.

She took in several deep breaths, blinked back the tears, and approached Anita’s open body again. Now came the really difficult part. Harvesting the organs.

Anita was an organ donor, and there were desperate recipients waiting for a second chance at life. Even in death, she was going to make a difference.

Molly swallowed the lump forming in her throat. It didn’t clear. Organ donation was Anita’s wish, but how could Molly take her friend’s body apart? It didn’t feel right.

“Maybe I should have gone to Sherlock’s after all,” she whispered to herself.

“Why?”

Molly whirled around, nearly dropping the scalpel still in her hand.

Sherlock stood just inside the door. The sleeves of his white button down were rolled up past his elbows and a pair of neoprene gloves adorned his hands.

Molly didn’t remember hearing anyone come in, but Sherlock had mastered the art of moving silently.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” Molly asked.

“To perform an autopsy,” Sherlock answered.

A wave of guilt came over Molly. Had he come all the way here because of this? Because of her?

“You don’t have to do this.”

Sherlock smiled. “I know I don’t. I want to.”

“But what about your party?”

“The party can wait,” Sherlock answered. “In fact, they are, in the lounge.”

Molly blinked. Was this true? “What? Why?”

“They wanted to come along,” Sherlock said. He walked up to her. “And when we’re finished, you and I are going to join them and continue the party.”

“Here? At the morgue?”

“Here. At the morgue.”

Molly wanted to cry, but it wasn’t out of grief this time. Sherlock had literally brought his Christmas party  _ to her _ . Simply because he wanted to. She felt herself falling even more in love with him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Sherlock smirked. “At least once.”

Molly laughed. “Well, you’re about to hear it again. I love you.”

Sherlock leaned in and kissed her lips twice. Molly savoured both kisses and was disappointed when he withdrew.

“So,” he spoke, “what do you need me to do?”

“This could take a while,” Molly warned. “Anita was an organ donor.”

Sherlock leaned in again. “That’s alright. The party will wait.” He kissed her again, and then walked around to the other side of the autopsy table. “Shall we?”

Molly gave him a grateful smile. She was the luckiest woman on earth. Who else had a boyfriend willing to, not only bring a Christmas party to the morgue, but help her harvest her friend’s organs? She couldn’t have asked for better.

She handed him the rib shears. “Yes, we shall.”


End file.
